


Flash Fics

by SilverMirror12



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Anniversary, Baking, Domestic Fluff, Drabble Collection, First Kiss, Fluff, Forbidden Love, Light Angst, Love Confessions, M/M, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Painting on the body, Parental Crowley (Good Omens), Prompt Fill, Protective Aziraphale (Good Omens), Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Watching Someone Sleep, Wings, caught kissing, obligatory quranatine fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-07
Updated: 2020-05-09
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:48:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 5,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24056977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverMirror12/pseuds/SilverMirror12
Summary: A collection of drabbles and prompt fills that are too short to warrant a standalone fic. Tags and characters will be updated as we go along.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 13
Kudos: 32





	1. Questions

**Author's Note:**

> Written in July 2019. Original post is [here](https://trellanyx.tumblr.com/post/186551822301/imagine-warlock-as-a-young-child-very-young-and).

Imagine Warlock as a young child. Very young. And he’s at that age where he’s asking questions about _everything_. From the most banal mundanities to the profound inquiries that only children seem capable of. Every answer is followed up with _why_?

_Why? Why? Why? Why?_

His mother will answer him sometimes, but her patience inevitably runs out. Sometimes she’s distracted or stressed and cuts Warlock off before he can finish his question. Sometimes she says _I don’t know_ , but she says it like she’s brushing Warlock off. Sometimes she says _that’s just how it is_.

His father always tells Warlock to go ask his mother.

And eventually, his mother starts telling him to go ask Nanny.

Because Nanny _always_ answers Warlock’s questions. It doesn’t matter what she’s doing or what he’s asking. Nanny will answer every how and where and what and why. Sometimes Warlock will talk to her for hours, asking whatever comes to his head.

Sometimes Nanny’s answers are silly.

_“What makes the sky change colors?”_

_“The demonic armies that will rise to your call and take up arms against your enemies.”_

Sometimes Nanny’s replies sound a little sad.

_“Why is Daddy away all the time?”_

_“Some parents are more distant than others, dear heart.”_

And sometimes Nanny says _I don’t know,_ but she always sounds honest when she admits this. Truth be told, Warlock likes it when Nanny doesn’t know something, because then they can sit and puzzle it out together. Sometimes Nanny will smile funny, like she can’t control her face, and gives him a sweetie, saying, _I never thought of it that way, dear. How clever you are._

One day, when his father is snappish and his mother is absent, Warlock worriedly asks if Nanny ever gets mad when he bothers her with so many questions. Nanny looks like he hit her, but before Warlock can apologize she’s down on her knees, hands on his shoulders squeezing tight.

“ _ **Never**_ ,” she hisses.

_“You promise?”_

_“I would never reject a child for seeking knowledge. That would be…terribly cruel.”_


	2. Consecrated Ground

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written in July 2019. Original post is [here](https://trellanyx.tumblr.com/post/186059981951/this-is-a-call-out-post-for-one-principality).

“Sorry, consecrated ground. _Ah_! It’s like…beingatthebeachinbarefeet!” Crowley hopped and tiptoed down the aisle, already feeling his skin blistering in his socks.

Aziraphale looked _outraged_. “What are you doing here?” he hissed.

“Stopping you from getting into troub– _hEY!”_

Aziraphale glowered at Crowley like he hadn’t literally swept Crowley off his feet and was now holding the demon in his arms. Crowley’s arms looped around Aziraphale’s neck instinctively, but the rest of him was stunned into stillness and silence.

“What are you doing _on consecrated ground_? You _know_ what it does to you!”

“I. Um. How are you holding me like this?” Crowley looked down like he expected Aziraphale to be floating. “I’ve seen you try to run, you’re not exactly the most–”

“Don’t you change the subject on me!”

“Me?! _You’re_ the one who–!”

One of the Nazis cleared their throat. Crowley blinked - he’d completely forgotten they were there, too busy distracted by the ethereal flash Aziraphale’s eyes took on when he was truly irritated, and the disgustingly comfortable way he fit in the angel’s arms.

“I should have known, of course! These people are working for you,” Aziraphale accused him. They were almost nose-to-nose like this. (Satan bless sunglasses, because Aziraphale did _not_ need to know how intently Crowley was staring at his pursed lips.)

Crowley reared back in offense (and maybe to make Aziraphale’s hand press into his back just a little harder). “ ** _No_ , **they’re a bunch of half-witted Nazi spies running around London blackmailing and murdering people! I just didn’t want to see _you_ embarrassed–ANGEL!” he yelped as Aziraphale shook him (but never, Crowley noticed, wavered in his grip; not once).

“Consecrated. Ground. Crowley.”

“Imminent. Discorporation. Aziraphale,” Crowley snapped back.

Aziraphale refused to put Crowley down through the rest of the conversation.

Crowley never bothered to ask.


	3. Miracle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written in July 2019. Original post is [here](https://trellanyx.tumblr.com/post/186583702171/the-presence-of-aziraphale-in-his-home-for-the).

The presence of Aziraphale in his home, for the first time, is normally something Crowley would celebrate and/or panic about (both; definitely both). But between performing the supernatural equivalent of CPR on his dying car, and stopping time for a solid minute in the presence of bloody Satan himself, well, it’s hard enough to just stay upright.

Aziraphale tuts and immediately takes him to bed (if only if only, Crowley’s delirious mind sings). Crowley falls face-first, squashing his nose into the pillows. There are fingers on his back - Aziraphale stroking his spine. Crowley’s body undulates like a serpent, and he sighs.

“Be up in a minute,” he mumbles.

“You’ll do no such thing.” The fingers trace higher until they’re lightly rubbing his neck, and Crowley groans as tension he didn’t know he was carrying melts away. “That was the biggest miracle I’ve ever seen you do. Certainly the biggest I’ve ever seen from a demon.”

“Y’watch many demons perform miracles?”

He knows, he just _knows_ Aziraphale is pursing his lips. Crowley feels him tug gently at his hair and chuckles.

“Besides, wasn’t _that_ impressive. Compared to you.” It’s getting harder to keep his eyes open. Crowley doesn’t want unconsciousness to steal this moment. Surely he’s earned at least five minutes?

“Me!” Aziraphale laughs in that self-deprecating way Crowley _hates_. “What great miracle did I do?”

Crowley closes his eyes.

“You came back to me.”


	4. Hiding/Forbidden Kiss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A combination of two prompts: "Hiding/hoping not to be caught kiss" and "Forbidden kiss". Posted August 2019, original post is [here](https://trellanyx.tumblr.com/post/187018339526/shoot-this-is-a-lot-because-they-are-all-really).

“It looks like this will last a while,” remarked Aziraphale. Adam and Eve were long gone beyond the horizon, and the sprawling sands beyond the wall were dark with newborn rain. “Is it just because it’s new, or…”

“You’re asking me?” Crawley pinched a tendril of hair between his fingers and held it out, watching curiously as it began to frizz in the humidity. “I’m a bit out of the loop these days, y’know.”

“Ah, y-yes. Of course.” Aziraphale laughed nervously to hide how flustered he felt under Crawley’s star-bright eyes.

Crawley blinked too slowly for it not to be deliberate. “Hey. Why’re you still here?”

“This is still my post,” said Aziraphale. “And, erm…” His toes shuffled over the rough stone as he moved closer to Crawley. “I have to replace the stone.”

Crawley blinked again. “The stone.”

Aziraphale shot a nervous look at the swollen clouds. “I may have done a wee bit more than given them the sword,” he whispered. 

He sounded like he confessing a shameful deed. 

He sounded like he was sharing a secret with a friend.

Crawley was rendered speechless for a second time.   
  
Mistaking his silence for judgment, Aziraphale began to chatter explanations, but Crawley heard none of them. Dizzily, his hand moved to his chest.

A gnawing pain existed inside every demon, born from a hunger that would never cease or fill. It was where Her Grace had been. Where their hearts were ripped from their chest during the Fall.

There was pride lurking in the corners of Aziraphale’s eyes. His whinging was undercut by the breathless giddiness of doing something forbidden. Aziraphale didn’t notice it, but Crawley did.

And impossibly, absurdly, _wonderfully,_ he felt a heartbeat shudder in his breast for the first time since the sun was born.

“Who _are_ you?”

Aziraphale’s mouth clicked shut, and for a moment he revealed too much in the lines around his eyes. They softened with relief that Crawley had shaken him out of his compulsive justifications.

“Oh, I’m sorry. How rude of me. I’m Aziraphale.”

“No. I mean, yes, hi, it’s nice to meet you–” _where have you been all this time?_ “–but that’s not what I meant.”

Aziraphale tilted his head. “I don’t understand.”

“You can’t be one of Hers. You–you’re not like the others. You’re…”

_Kind. Beautiful. **Good**._

“…interesting,” he finished lamely.

Aziraphale laughed, because it was better than blushing, although he did that too. “And just what’s so interesting about me, then?”

(No apple, divine or earthly, could be a more beautiful shade than Aziraphale’s cheeks. Nor more tempting.)

Crawley grabbed Aziraphale’s wrist, and the angel silenced on a dime. He looked uncertainly between Crawley’s expression (starstruck) and hand (shaking), but made no effort to move away.

“Crawley…”

“Tell me to stop,” Crawley rasped. His throat was too dry. He licked his lips, and his wings shifted.

Aziraphale’s mouth parted. “Stop what?”

“It’s forbidden. And yeah, that’s supposed to be my thing, but.” Crawley’s wings, dark and infinite as galaxies, stretched around them. They curled around Aziraphale, blocking out the rain and weak sunlight.

Crawley leaned forward until his forehead knocked against Aziraphale’s. His rusty heart was shuddering inside him. The pain felt a little sweeter now.

It wasn’t Grace, but it was still love.

“Tell me to stop,” he whispered again. Crawley could feel the air shiver as Aziraphale’s eyes fluttered.

“Are you going to hurt me?” he asked.

“ _Never_ ,” Crawley hissed. He’d swallow Aziraphale’s pain down to join his own, and drink from it gladly.

Aziraphale’s other wing curled around Crawley. Only when they were hidden away from the world and all eyes but one’s (and hopefully She was looking the other way), did their lips brush together.

And Crawley’s phantom heart _sang_.


	5. Caught Off Guard Kiss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt "caught off guard kiss". Posted August 2019, original post is [here](https://trellanyx.tumblr.com/post/187059093551/56-for-ineffable-husbands-3c).

Every word falls from Aziraphale’s lips like a stone, heavy and dangerous, each one throwing quivering ripples through the moment. 

“After I was discorporated, and found you in that bar.” He swallows. “You said you didn’t go to Alpha Centauri because…”

Crowley is stretched on his back along Aziraphale’s couch. He looks too complementary to a coffin for Aziraphale’s taste, with his crossed arms and funeral-black clothes and the inhuman stillness that’s settled over him like a shroud.

“I thought you were dead, yeah.” Crowley directs his words to the ceiling. “Thanks for the reminder.”

_Drop this. Please._

“But you couldn’t know I’d come back, let alone with key information.” Aziraphale leans forward in his chair, and rubs the bones of his wrists to powder with his nerves.

_I’m sorry. I can’t._

“What were you going to do when– _if_ the world ended?”

Crowley’s bony shoulders stab the air as he attempts an unaffected shrug.

“Order another bottle.”

Aziraphale scowls. “Crowley, I’m serious.”

“So am I, Aziraphale.” Crowley suddenly sounds impossibly tired.

And Aziraphale’s on his feet, furious and frightened, snapping the air with wings just barely restrained behind reality. Crowley doesn’t move his head, but Aziraphale can feel his scorchflame eyes following him.

“You…you’d _given up_? You weren’t even going to _try_ and fight?” Aziraphale growls, properly _snarls_ , when Crowley still refuses to move. “ _Crowley_!”

“What does it matter?” Crowley’s voice and neck snap back to Aziraphale. The air is displaced around him too, shimmering like heat waves and unshed tears. “You came back, didn’t you? Look at you, you’re fine! _I’m_ fine!”

“What if I hadn’t?” Aziraphale knows he’s pressing too hard, like pushing down on a bruise to remind himself of past pain, but he can’t stop.

“What if Adam didn’t stop it all in time? You said Hell found out you’d betrayed them!”

“Yeah.”

“And you were sitting there, waiting for them to come for you?”

Crowley slumps into the pillows, like he’s given up on having bones for the time being. His gaze returns to the bloody ceiling. When he licks his lips, his tongue is forked.

“What do you want me to say here, angel?”

“ _That you weren’t waiting around to bloody **die** just because I was gone!_”

Aziraphale clenches his hands into fists as the silence rings around them. He can’t stop thinking about demons in bathtubs, wrong place at the wrong time, screams echoing off the walls even after the voice box dissolved.

Crowley sits up slowly. The air around him is frigid; Aziraphale can feel it from where he’s standing. A fury that burns so hot that it runs cold again. There’s hoarfrost on his pillow.

“…’Jusssst’ becaussse?”

But Aziraphale’s too caught up in thinking of his own fires. A piece of paper simmering on the water, two wretched words curling into smoke. A Bentley wreathed in flame. Steam from the bathtub.

“You always do this! You plan to rob a church, you walk on consecrated ground, you ask for Holy Water, you–you drive that _infernal bloody car_!” Aziraphale takes an aborted step forward, and doesn’t know whether he wants to strangle Crowley or embrace him.

“You risk yourself needlessly, and for what?”

Crowley’s standing now, his essence looming well over his human-shaped body. It matches Aziraphale’s; the rage and righteousness filling the room would make a mortal body bleed.

“ _Just. Because.”_

Aziraphale throws up his hands. _“_ I am not worth your _life_ , you stupid serpent! _**Nothing is!**_ ”

Crowley lunges, and Aziraphale has only seconds to register the pinprick of claws grabbing his face before Crowley’s mouth is upon his. Aziraphale actually stumbles back in shock, but Crowley is unyielding, and Aziraphale can’t help but match him blow for blow.

It’s nothing like he’s imagined ( _far too many nights, too many days, too many years_ ), not soft and romantic but sharp as a sword through the ribs. It bites and grabs and ends as abruptly as it began.

Aziraphale is left flat-footed and panting when Crowley smoothly steps away from him. Crowley’s body shakes with fine tremors, and his eyes are saturated with stress-gold.

“Do you really think that little of me, angel? Or that little of _you_?”


	6. University AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt fill for Teen/University AU. Written August 2019, original post is [here](https://trellanyx.tumblr.com/post/187093675856/goteenuni-au-please).

“You have a dorm, you know,” said Crowley with equal parts exasperation and fondness as he finished climbing the stairs that led to Aziraphale’s nook on the third floor. “Chrissake, it’s not even _finals_ yet.”

“Oh, Anthony!” chirped The Only Person On Campus Allowed to Call Crowley That (otherwise known as Aziraphale). “What are you doing here?”

Crowley held up his phone, and Aziraphale winced. “Oh dear. Again?”

“I have a reputation to maintain, angel. The fact that the librarian has my number on speed dial? _Not helping_.”

“I’m sorry, there are no windows in this part,” said Aziraphale as he began to stack the books surrounding him. It was an old script; since becoming Aziraphale’s roommate, Crowley had made more trips to the library in one semester than he had the previous year. All because Aziraphale refused to buy a watch.

“How long was I…?”

“It’s 10 after closing. They’re starting to skip straight to me rather than look for you. Won’t even try the intercom anymore.”

“Hardly my fault,” sniffed Aziraphale even if it was, indeed, very much his fault. “I’ll bring Mrs. Young some biscuits to apologize.” He scooped up a small stack of books in his arms and nodded to the (much taller) pile.

“Would you please…?”

Crowley made sure his sigh was loud and long-suffering. Aziraphale was stronger than he looked, and could easily carry his books and bag alone. But he liked watching Crowley carry his books, like an old-timey schoolboy romance.

And honestly? Crowley didn’t mind a bit.


	7. Coffee Shop AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt fill for Coffee Shop AU. Written August 2019, original post is [here](https://trellanyx.tumblr.com/post/187093823626/ive-always-been-partially-to-the-coffee-shop-au).

When Aziraphale swanned into the shop with a coffee order a mile long, Crowley hated him, and wanted to talk to him for hours.

The second time, Crowley was annoyed by him, and wanted to scribble his number on Aziraphale’s cup.

The third time, Aziraphale told him that Crowley was the only one to ever spell his name right on the first time, and Crowley was floating on air for the rest of his shift.

The fourth time, it was Crowley who rattled off Aziraphale’s ridiculous drink before Aziraphale could open his mouth. Aziraphale looked stunned, then smitten, then so goddamn beautiful that Crowley asked him out to lunch on the spot.

The fifth time, Aziraphale ordered a cup of tea. When Crowley demanded to know what was wrong, Aziraphale _winked_ and told him that he actually preferred simpler drinks, but gave Crowley the longest order he could think of just so he could spend time in front of the counter for as long as possible.

“You _bastard_.”

“You sound almost impressed.”

“Turned on, actually, but that too.”

“Oh my.” Aziraphale hid a smile behind his cup, and Crowley felt like he could fly.


	8. Artist and Muse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt fill for "artist and muse". Written August 2019, original post is [here](https://trellanyx.tumblr.com/post/187100994596/good-omens-au-artist-and-muse).

“When you said you wanted to paint me–” Aziraphale shivered as cold paint spread across his skin. “–this isn’t what I expected.”

“I’ve done you in watercolor, charcoal, fuck I even have a drawing of you in _crayon_.” Crowley made short strokes with his brush, streaking Aziraphale with purple. “All for other people. I want something for me. For us.”

“You already have me,” Aziraphale murmured. “The world is only allowed glimpses of my flesh. But the heart, the soul…those are yours. Always.”

“Soppy angel,” Crowley teased fondly. He allowed Aziraphale to take one of his hands to kiss the knuckles before returning to his task of transforming Aziraphale’s stretch marks into shooting stars.


	9. Accidentally Witnessed Kiss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Accidentally Witnessed Kiss. Written August 2019, original post is [here](https://trellanyx.tumblr.com/post/187174342226/for-the-prompts-list-52-accidentally-witnessed).

“Bold, angel,” Ashtoreth murmured. The shadows of the garden trees softened their outlines in shadow, making her eyes look like they were glowing as they peeked up at Francis over her glasses.

He leaned in, watched her lips part in anticipation, and gave her a peck at the corner of her mouth instead. Then her nose. Then both cheeks. Her laughter, Francis thought with no trace of irony, was divine.

“Bold, _teasing_ angel. You know I can’t stay long.”

“I ask for but a moment of your time, my lady.” Francis kissed along her jaw, delighted at the way her skin warmed with blush. “We’ve wasted quite enough of it already, don’t you think?”

She hummed at his double meaning, and looked at him slightly dazedly, like she still couldn’t believe they were finally on the same page. Francis pressed her closer against the tree bark, cupped her face in his hands, sighed in adoration as she reached up to hold his wrist in place.

“Besides, I’ve yet to hear any complaints about these little moments.”

“And you never will,” Ashtoreth promised. Her essence, older and lovelier than Earth’s creation, sang to him as they kissed again, and he joined her harmony with the giddiness of newfound freedom. He’d gladly stay Francis forever if it meant he could give her this.

Her fingers curled under his collar. “Azira–”

“SURPRISE!”

Ashtoreth shrieked and stumbled as something violently crashed against her middle from the right side. Only Francis’s intervention kept her from falling flat on her arse in the leaves.

“Warlock!” Ashtoreth all but shoved Francis away, and pressed her glasses tight against her eyes. “You, you’re supposed to be in lessons–”

“Mr. Smithy ended them early today. You promised you’d play with me after, so I came to get you.”

“That’s…nice.” Ashtoreth stared at Francis, and a helpless smirk wobbled onto her face. Francis laughed (because it was the only thing to do at that point), and bowed (playfully) to Warlock and (reverently) to Ashtoreth.

“Well, far be it from me to keep a growing lad from his playtime! I must return to the garden anyway. The azaleas need watering.”

“You over-water them,” tsked Ashtoreth. Francis waved her off, gave Warlock another wide grin, and started down the path back to his garden. Behind him, he heard Warlock talking to his nanny.

“Were you playing dinosaurs, Nanny? Is that why Brother Francis was pretending to eat your face?”


	10. Breaking The Kiss To Say Something, Staying So Close That You’re Murmuring Into Each Other’s Mouths

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Breaking The Kiss To Say Something, Staying So Close That You’re Murmuring Into Each Other’s Mouths. Written August 2019, original post is here.

Crowley showered Aziraphale’s face with kisses, creating constellations across Aziraphale’s skin point by point. Here is love. Here is peace. Here is devotion. Here is promise.

Aziraphale could only laugh and open his arms wider as Crowley’s love beat against him like a physical force. Crowley followed him step for step, as he always had and always would. The galaxies might bear his mark, but Aziraphale was the Northern Star. A steady light that always lead Crowley home.

“Say it again,” he begged.

“Yes.”

“Again.”

Aziraphale giggled. “ _Yes_.”

Crowley cupped Aziraphale’s face, half kissing, half whispering the words against the angel’s lips.

“One more time.”

“Yes, my love, my precious heart, my greatest joy.” Aziraphale poured his truth into Crowley’s mouth, words sweeter than wine that made Crowley feel twice as drunk.

“Yes, I will marry you.”


	11. Anniversary Baking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: _Au where crowley tries baking a little somethin for aziraphale, and maybe he makes an absolute mess or is actually quite good at baking-- but nonetheless aziraphale heckin loves him sm for trying it out, and for him!_
> 
> Written August 2019, original post is [here](https://trellanyx.tumblr.com/post/187175644556/au-where-crowley-tries-baking-a-little-somethin).

“Keep staring, I’m still not going to grow a second head.”

“I’m not staring!” Aziraphale, who’d very much been staring, gestured defensively at the cake Crowley was decorating. “I’m just surprised, that’s all.”

Crowley glanced up at him. He never wore his glasses in the cottage anymore, and the amusement shone in his eyes like sunlight on the ocean.

“You’ve seen me cook before, angel.”

“Yes, but this is _baking_.”

“What’s the difference?”

“What’s the–” Aziraphale sputtered, squirming in his seat at the kitchen island and gesturing at nothing. “Quite a lot of difference, actually! There’s–oh. Oh, you _wretched_ snake,” he admonished when Crowley’s shoulders began to shake with laughter.

“Food is food, Aziraphale.” Crowley finished his - dear lord in heaven - _piping_ , and picked up a tube of blue icing. “The amount of sugar I use doesn’t suddenly turn it into alchemy.”

Aziraphale pouted, and craned his neck to see the upside-down letters Crowley was writing across the cake in long, graceful swoops. “What are you writing?”

“Patience is a virtue,” Crowley quipped.

Aziraphale’s stare could crack stone. “I’ll remember that the next time you’re begging me to let you come.”

Crowley looked up at him with a completely different type of hunger.

“Promises, promises…”

“Hold on. Is that…?” Aziraphale peered closer at the cake. “Are you writing _Happy Anniversary_?”

Crowley grunted, suddenly unable to look at Aziraphale directly.

“Anniversary for what?” Aziraphale pressed.

Crowley’s shrug was too graceful to be genuine. “The first time we kissed. First day we moved in here. First time you agreed to stay the night. First time we went to lunch. First time we ever spoke. Take your pick.”

“Crowley…”

“I just. We had to hide for so long, and now that we’re finally able to bloody _breathe_ , I…” Crowley blew a strand of hair out of his eyes, and returned his gaze to Aziraphale. “I figure we’re overdue for one.”

Aziraphale’s eyes were shining with tears, and Crowley coughed. “Anyway, if you think the cake’s rubbish we can just toss it and–”

“Oh, my _dear_.” Aziraphale slid off his chair so quickly that it wobbled behind him as he circled the counter to pull Crowley into a wet kiss. “It’s wonderful.”

“You haven’t even tasted it yet.”

“I wasn’t talking about the cake.”

“Yeah…” Crowley leaned his forehead against Aziraphale’s. His voice was gentle when he whispered, “Happy anniversary, angel.”

“Happy anniversary, precious.”


	12. The Touch of a Wing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written August 2019, original post is [here](https://trellanyx.tumblr.com/post/187186139561/in-those-six-long-centuries-before-the-end-of-the).

In those six long centuries before the end of the world, Aziraphale always keeps a safe distance from Crowley. Their hands never do more than brush, they never lean on each other without three bottles of alcohol in their systems, and they certainly never hug.

But that doesn’t mean Aziraphale never touches Crowley.

It’s his wings, you see. Tucked away outside of reality between one heartbeat and the next, Aziraphale’s wings stretch wide and reach for Crowley without fear.

They shelter Crowley from storms, even if he has an umbrella.

When they sit together on a bench, his wing drapes across Crowley’s shoulders while Aziraphale’s hands stay primly in his lap.

His feathers brush against Crowley’s cheek when he’s smiling, and soak up his tears when he’s not.

They curl around Crowley like the embrace Aziraphale longs to give him.

One the night of the failed apocalypse, when Crowley passes out from exhaustion, Aziraphale lays on his stomach and watches him sleep. He drinks in the lines and curves that Aziraphale memorized long ago. He thinks about fires and discorporation. He hears Crowley in his mind, broken—

_I lost my best friend._

—and resolved.

_Wherever you are I’ll come to you, where are you?_

Aziraphale’s fingers curl into the sheets. They’re still in danger, and Aziraphale can’t bring himself to do anything that might be used against Crowley, even something as gentle as brushing his hair of his eyes.

Soon, but not yet.

So Aziraphale does what he’s always done. He reaches for Crowley with feather and bone, and covers him with a soft, heavy wing.

And if Crowley’s expression relaxes at the touch, well, that’s a treasure for Aziraphale alone.


	13. I Knew I Loved You When...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written September 2019, original post is [here](https://trellanyx.tumblr.com/post/187579761506/when-did-you-know-you-loved-me-crowleys).

“When did you know you loved me?”

Crowley’s sleepy smile blooms like the flowers in his garden, currently bathing in the humid summer rain. He tucks his chin more securely into the curve of Aziraphale’s neck, and watches his soft chest move up and down.

“I knew on the garden wall,” murmurs Crowley. “When you sounded so wrecked and insecure about giving away your sword. But you did it anyway. You followed your heart over Heaven, you always have. And in so doing, you stole mine.”

Aziraphale hums, and wiggles under Crowley’s arm in pleasure. But this is an answer he’s heard before, and now it’s his turn.

“When did you know you loved me?” Crowley dutifully asks.

“I knew in the destroyed church,” says Aziraphale. Crowley’s grown his hair out since they moved into the cottage, and Aziraphale plays with it now, drapes it across his belly like rivers of wine. “When you burned yourself and brought down the very walls to keep me safe. When you knew what I wanted even before I did. You acted like it was the simplest thing in the world - protecting, saving, _loving_ me. And in so doing, you made the choice simple for me as well.”

They play this game sometimes, during pockets of time that are slow and lazy, honey-tipped minutes and hard-earned peace. They helped save the world, after all - it owes them this time, when the sharp things are put away and they can speak as indulgently as they please.

“When did you know you loved me?” whispers Aziraphale.

“I knew in Rome, when your enthusiasm to share your joys overrode protocol. When did you know you loved me?”

“On the sea, when I found you in the belly of Noah’s ark with the children.” Aziraphale brushes his toes over the scales patterned around Crowley’s ankles. “And you?”

“The look on your face when you saw Hamlet for the first time in a packed theater.”

“I knew when I saw you hold Warlock for the first time,” says Aziraphale. “The wonder on your face lifted me higher than my wings ever could.”

“I knew when I realized you only give away books to people who need them most,” Crowley tells him. He presses his lips just below Aziraphale’s ear. “The ones that wander into your shop lost and desperate, beaten and exhausted. You miracle books into existence for them to find on the shelves. Tell them it’s on the house, doesn’t go with your collection anyway.”

“I knew when you hopped over to Japan in 1945 and didn’t come back for a decade.” Aziraphale begins to thread his fingers through the tangles in Crowley’s hair, unsnarling them one by one; Crowley’s golden eyes droop with bliss.

“I knew in the eighties, when you spent hours in hospital rooms that the nurses wouldn’t enter,” he says.

“I knew when I saw you step out of your inferno of a car.”

“I knew when I ran into you at your first drag show in 1963.” Crowley smirked. “And I knew when you told me it _wasn’t_ your first. With a blessed _wink_.”

Aziraphale chuckles, and makes his final move. “I know I love you every time I hear your laugh. Every time you fall asleep in my arms.”

Crowley closes his eyes. He is warm with blankets and body heat and love. He’d Fall - hell, he’d fucking cannonball - from Heaven all over again if he knew it’d lead him to this.

“I know I love you,” Crowley says. He doesn’t need to give a reason.

He never did.


	14. Lockdown

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written May 2020. Original post [here](https://trellanyx.tumblr.com/post/617654889434251264/lockdown-fic).

“ _July._ Really, Crowley?”

The wistful yearning - _very_ well performed, in Aziraphale’s completely unbiased opinion - evaporated from Crowley’s tone. “What’s wrong with July?”

“You’re not supposed to give up that fast!” Aziraphale huffed. “What am I supposed to do with July?”

“I dunno, I figured you could–” Crowley made a noise not unlike the whine of a rusty hinge, “–pine for an hour or three? Write long love letters and sigh every third word? This whole thing was your idea.”

Aziraphale glared at the parchment with Crowley’s name on it, green wax and all, like it might rat him out. “It’s just out of character for you, is all. You’re ruining the immersion.”

“ _Immersion_ ,” Crowley mocked.

“My voice is _not_ that squeaky, thank you very much.”

“Maybe I’m tired of chasing.” Aziraphale could hear Crowley shifting, likely putting his legs (his long, _lovely_ legs) up while he lounged on his throne. “Maybe I’m setting boundaries. Understanding that this is hard for you, but also knowing you’ve got to start asking for the things you want. Y’know…”

Aziraphale chuckled. “My dear, we danced that particular waltz over a year ago.”

“Progress isn’t always a straight line, angel.”

“Did you get that out of a self-help book?”

“One of my better creations.” Crowley hissed playfully just to hear Aziraphale laugh again. “I’m still not sure why you insisted on doing this. I haven’t even been back here in months.”

“Your plants _could_ use a break,” Aziraphale mused.

Crowley grumbled. “If I come back and here even _one leaf_ talking sedition, I’m coming after you.”

“Promise?” Aziraphale purred. He ruined his own act a second later with a hearty laugh while Crowley sputtered. Oh, but it was such a _delight_ to know he could still make his dearest do that.

“It’s a fantasy pantomime, Crowley–”

“ _Role-play_ , angel, I’ve told you a dozen–”

“And I do enjoy the chase when it’s one of my choosing. You do as well, don’t try to deny it.”

“Ngk,” said Crowley, refusing to hand Aziraphale the point just yet.

“It was reality for so long,” said Aziraphale softly. “I like to remind myself, time to time, that it’s not. Do you understand?”

A fond hum traveled through the line and down to Aziraphale’s toes. “Yeah, angel. I get it.”

“You don’t think I’m being silly?”

“Nah. But I love you when you’re silly, too.”

“And I you, my dear,” murmured Aziraphale.

“I’m never silly, Aziraphale,” Crowley quipped. “I am the pinnacle of coolness at all times.”

Aziraphale laughed, feeling lighter than sponge cake. “Of course you are, Crowley. Now do slither over here, would you? And bring that case.”

“For you? I’ll bring two.”


End file.
